Exile
by sdbubbles
Summary: Serena and Michael call a cease fire over one too many drinks, but is friendship a stretch too far? Between car mechanics, drunken assault, and the festivities of Christmas time taken too far by too many, is it actually possible for them to see the best in each other?
1. Truce

**A/N: This is just something I've written for no reason whatsoever. So if it makes no sense, that'll be why.**

**Sarah x**

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"See, I always thought that those who dare win," Serena sighed. She was rather unhappy with this new arrangement of Hanssen's, but she now had to choice but to tough it out for the time being. The biggest problem was that she didn't like disorder, she didn't like half the patients and she most definitely did not like Michael. And yet here she sat, having a drink with him.

"No," Michael contradicted her, swigging his bottle of beer. What a surprise. He disagreed with her. Nothing new there, then."Those who dare usually screw up and either end up unemployed or with their ass in the brig."

"Or on AAU," she pointed out with a grim smile into her wine glass. "How'd you end up there, anyway? For whatever else you are, you're still a good surgeon." She wasn't used to paying the man a compliment, but his skill was undeniable. It was just the arrogance that came with it that made him so frustrating.

"Made a bad impression on Hanssen on his first day. And there was no consultant for AAU. Last one was murdered, and Penny was left to run it even though she was just an F2," he confessed. And as far as Serena heard, Penny Valentine was crushed by a train. AAU had a brilliant track record, didn't it?

"So AAU is a form of exile, is it?" she concluded. "Good to know what the boss thinks of me."

"You did help land Hanssen in a bad situation," he needlessly reminded her. She knew she was wrong now. Even though she was absolved of any blame, she knew it was her policy that started it. Ric had already pointed out before that she was wrong. "Look," Michael continued, sensing the atmosphere was changing. "We all made a mess of this. You started it, Ric allowed it to happen on his ward, Binns encouraged it, Eddi and I escalated it and Hanssen was left to deal with the consequences. He can't punish all of us, so he's chosen the person it originated from."

Serena turned to face him; she knew he was talking sense for once in his life. And he knew what he was on about. She knew what had happened barely a year ago. That had been another level of backlash for the hospital, and Michael had played a big part in it, abducting Darwin for his little plastic surgery scheme. Only with unreliable plastics, of course. But she believed he didn't know they were dodgy. He wouldn't knowingly do that. Of that much she was sure.

"Anyway, AAU is the place to be," Michael grinned. "Entertaining when you're on the Friday night shift, believe me," he winked. There was the cockiness again. Why did he feel the need to be like that?

"Oh, yeah," she drawled sarcastically. "Drunk sluts wearing a bucket load of fake tan and clothes three sizes too small shouting abuse at me. Sounds like great fun," she retorted. "I shouldn't be doing that. I should be on Keller, doing what I am good at," she asserted.

"And how do you know you won't be good at this?" he challenged, one eyebrow raised. "You're good with patients. You're nice to them but you don't let them run rings around you, and you're a quick thinker."

"Where is Michael Spence and what have you done with him?" she replied with just a small smile. "I'm not very good with chaos. I like to know where I stand."

"Let's face it, Serena. None of us know where we stand anymore. I'm not even sure some of us remember who the hell we are," he frowned, drinking from his bottle yet again. Wise words seemed to pour from the American when he had a beer in his hand, Serena realised.

She was convinced that, just in her case, he was very much mistaken. She knew her duties, and though she was now willing to admit that she had overstepped a few blurred lines, she was determined she knew who she was. "I know exactly who I am, thank you very much," she retorted with what was dangerously close to becoming a mocking sneer. He just challenged her silently to explain to him her being. "I am a surgeon, a doctor, a business woman, a friend, colleague, consultant, but above all, I am a mother," she asserted calmly.

"Ah, but is it in that order?" he smirked. He was rapidly becoming irritating. But he was Michael Spence, and she was beginning to wonder whether it was his only active personality trait. "First and foremost, you're a mom. But what comes next? Surgeon or business woman? Friend or colleague? Doctor or consultant?"

She knew exactly what he was getting at. Her tendency to choose her responsibilities rather than shoulder the ones that no-one else would seemed to irk him. "I learned my lesson; I used to put profit first and look where it got me. Now the patient comes before any possible profit. Question is, have you learned your lesson yet?"

Serena said nothing, staring at the alcohol in her glass. He, of course, had a fair point. She had learned plenty. Acted on none of it, but learned plenty. Maybe it was time to put what she learned into action and make a go of AAU, and worry less about finance and more about medicine.

Today, she had found that Michael irritated her less as the day wore on. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe she could get used to this. In a way, because there were no electives and no pressure to get through them, AAU was easier than Keller. But she still preferred Ric to Michael. Only an idiot would wish Michael upon themselves.

"I have learned plenty," she smiled grimly. "I know you don't like me, Michael. I know-"

"It's not you I don't like, Serena," he cut across her. "I just don't agree with your methods sometimes. It's probably because I've made similar mistakes. But there's nothing wrong with you as a person," he allowed. "You can actually be quite funny with that smart mouth of yours."

Serena snorted into her glass when he said that, wondering why he wasn't insulting her anymore. "I can't understand why I let it happen. I knew there was something amiss, that it wasn't as straightforward as electives on Keller and emergencies on AAU. I think I knew AAU didn't have the capacity to handle it. But I ignored it and tried to keep Hanssen and Binns happy."

"We've got one theatre and a staff shortage," he reminded her shortly.

"I know that," Serena groaned. "And for what the strain I put you and your department under, I apologise."She poured herself another glass of wine, and opened Michael another bottle of beer. "I was wrong," she finally admitted. The freedom she achieved from those three words was unbelievable. It felt good to know that somebody around her knew she acknowledged her mistakes.

"How about we just try and get along?" Michael suggested. "For everyone else's sakes?"

"We're acting like petulant children, Michael," she sighed. "My daughter was more gracious as a toddler than I am now."

"A testament to what a great mother you are," he grinned. He raised his bottle and toasted, "To a cease fire?"

She smiled and knocked her glass together with the bottle and repeated, "To a cease fire." She drank to their truce and added, "Now, I suggest we get drunk and try and forget the idiots we are sure to encounter in the morning," with a smirk.

"Sounds like a plan. But we'll regret it tomorrow." Another good point, but she didn't care. All she needed was to forget what she'd put him through, and all she'd put Hanssen through. Neither of them deserved the positions they had been placed in.

"Honestly, Michael, I don't really care," she asserted.

"Well, then," he grinned, throwing an arm around her neck casually, receiving an ignored glare for his troubles. "We'd better get drinking, hadn't we, Serena?" he agreed, using her first name to tell her he was going to try.

"Yes, we had," she grinned, drinking deeply from her glass. She felt his arm still draped around her neck, and she felt herself loosen up just a little. Maybe she could enjoy this new place she found herself in. After all, what could be more exciting than car crashes, drunks and the cocky American?

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	2. Point Proven

**A/N: So I don't knoe why I wrote another chapter for this. Just felt like it. But it felt right to prove Michael's point from the first chapter. I may keep going if enough people enjoy it enough :)**

**Sarah x**

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"Bed three: college accident. Bed five: nameless homeless guy with an infected cut to the leg. Bed six: fell down the stairs this morning due to last night's Christmas party," Michael offered, holding three files up to Serena. "Take your pick."

He looked a little hungover, and much worse than she felt. He had soon ditched beer for whisky last night, and was clearly paying for it now.

"Three," she immediately replied. College accident was better than a hungover idiot and someone with no records.

She took the file and went to bed three to find she had perceives the word "college" in completely the wrong way. She had expected a minor hairdressing accident, or perhaps a cookery burn. Not an unconscious eighteen-year-old with the bottom half of his arm ripped open and a nasty gash to the head.

"I thought you said he was a college accident?" she hissed to Michael.

"Yep," he answered brightly. "Stage One Motor Vehicle Engineering."

Serena sighed and got to work, assessing the damage and figuring out what happened. The boy stirred, and she quickly explained where he was and that he was going to be fine and who she was. "How did you manage this?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"I was trying to get in at the oil filter on a Vauxhall Corsa and got my arm trapped. The bonnet must've fallen," he explained.

"And why do you assume the bonnet slipped?" she challenged, to which she received a laugh from her patient.

"The bloody great cut on my head's a bit of a giveaway," he smiled.

"Do you enjoy working with cars?" she enquired, trying to distract him from any pain he was bound to experience when she examined him. He was a very brave boy; he never complained once.

"Yeah," he replied enthusiastically. "Teaches you to be patient and methodical. Before I started I probably would've just battered something if it didn't work properly, but now I think about it and find the answers."

Serena smiled, remembering the last time her car had broken down. It hadn't been fun. Halfway down the motorway with Eleanor in tow, after a long time of shaking and shuddering and jerky acceleration and difficulty speeding up, she gave up and pulled over.

"So what exactly does the term "misfire" entail?" she asked, again giving him something other than pain to think of. That, and she never fully understood what happened to her car.

"Depends," he mused. "It can be a bad spark plug or coil, so the cylinder gets fuel but no spark. But then it could be a faulty injector or loose injector cable, and the cylinder would be getting a spark but no fuel. Does the car accelerate slowly then jerk about? And is it hard to start in the cold? Petrol or diesel engine?"

Serena smiled as she stitched the cut across his head. He'd gone into complete motor mechanic mode, and was unaware that she was currently sewing his head back together. "Yes, yes, yes and petrol," she smiled. "It was a while back but nobody explained what it meant."

"Well, combustion can't happen unless there's fuel, oxygen and ignition. Take out any of those and you've got a problem. It's the "suck, squeeze, bang, blow" thing."

She still needed go distract him, so she kept the conversation going. "Suck, squeeze, bang, blow?" she repeated curiously, and she was surprised to find she was actually interested. All she actually knew about her car was how to drive and how to fill it up. Until now, nobody explained anything to her when she took it to a garage. "What does that mean?"

"Induction, compression, power, exhaust," he rattled off, genuinely impressing her. He quite obviously knew the subject of engines like the back of his hand, and he was more than willing to explain to his consultant what he knew. "The first stroke is where the fuel and air, or just air if it's a diesel engine, is taken into the chamber," he explained.

"Induction," she nodded, moving to inspect what state his arm was in. And, by God, it was in one hell of state.

"Second, the air and fuel mixture is compressed when the intake and exhaust valves close, and the temperature rises to hundreds of degrees."

"Compression?" she guessed, wincing slightly at the shredded state of his lower arm. Stitches, definitely. Scarring, probably. She started to clean the wound, deciding as the blood vanished to reveal further damage that an X-ray was a good plan.

"Yep," he said. "The spark plugs then cause a high-voltage electrical spark which ignites the fuel if it's a petrol engine," he said, and it was to her amazement that he didn't feel the antiseptic sting his multitude of cuts. She was beginning to believe she had found a new way of easing extreme pain: get them to think of something that needed explaining.

"Power stroke?" she encouraged him, indicating she was still interested in how her engine worked. He nodded with a smile.

"Then the outlet valve opens and releases all the gases, and when it closes, the intake valve opens and it starts again," he finished.

"And that would be the exhaust stroke?" she checked. "All I can do is drive the thing, and my daughter tells me I'm not even brilliant at that," she laughed. "At least I don't manhandle my car, though. My ex-husband was terrible for swinging around corners and revving the engine up all the time."

It wasn't often she mentioned her ex-husband, but it was true. The man was terrible for wrecking the engine. Even she knew an engine shouldn't be revved up when it's first started.

"Well, he'll be the one with the worn engine and bad brakes and a wrecked clutch, won't he?" he answered with a grin. The way this boy didn't notice she was stitching his arm was unbelievable. This was the power of distraction, was it? Well, it was better than drugging him up.

"True enough." She had to concentrate for a moment as she finished stitching the most serious gash on his arm. "So what does this course lead to?"

"Modern apprenticeship," he said. "I've already got a place in a garage. Just need to finish off this year and then it's four days in the garage and one day in the college every week," he continued. "I've always admired doctors and surgeons."

"Why is that?" she asked, taken aback by his honesty and compliment.

"It takes serious dedication to study for so long. I hated school myself, though," he added. "Every teacher was trying to shove the idea of university down my throat and I just didn't want that. I wanted something practical and enjoyable."

"Engineering must be like medicine," Serena thought aloud. The boy gave her a puzzled look before she expanded, "It must be constantly evolving with new technology. Like those hybrid cars you get now."

"My dad always says that it doesn't matter how much new technology is out there, you'll always need four people: an engineer, a bricklayer, a car mechanic and a doctor," he grinned. "Because people will always need machinery, buildings, vehicles and medicine. Even if the world does end up like Star Trek," he added, and Serena chuckled. He had a point. Medicine, machinery, mechanics and buildings will always be around now.

As she walked away, she realised Michael had been right: she was good at this. She was never one for disorganisation, but she knew she never would have had the chance to do that on Keller. She would've had to rely on drugs to relieve his pain, when a distraction worked better. Now he could be prescribed painkillers to take at home and not have to stay until the effects of morphine wore off.

She picked up the next file more positively, and she heard a complacent drawl behind her say, "I told you so," and she realised Michael had listened in on all of that.

"Nosey," she accused, not looking at him. She didn't need to to know that he was hungover; he'd had more than one too many last night. She had drunk a lot, but not nearly as much as him.

"Grumpy," he replied, but she heard the cheeky grin in his voice. He was never going to let her forget that she had let emergency medicine grow on her.

Maybe exile wasn't going to be so horrific.

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**Hope this is OK!**

**Please feel free to review and tell me what you think!**

**Sarah x**


	3. Doormat

**A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed or favourited this fic.**

**Sarah x**

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It was after lunch that things turned sour, as she dreaded they would. She was left to deal with a man who was drunk at two in the afternoon.

"Right," she approached him, pulling on gloves. "Facial injuries caused by a drunken bar brawl," she read, and she had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Why did people have to be such morons at Christmas time? "This will probably hurt a bit," she warned, but he clearly wasn't listening to her. He was too busy staring at Chrissie, who was adjusting the drip intended to sober him up a bit quicker.

Deciding to proceed regardless of his ignorance, Serena began to feel his face for fractures. She didn't feel any, but the bruise was growing. She touched the centre of the discolouration and next thing she knew, she felt a strong fist connect with her face and she was knocked to the ground.

Chrissie helped her to her feet, and she heard Michael shout from the other end of the ward, "What in the hell is happening?!"

Serena felt warm blood trickle down her chin and realised that, somewhere, there was a cut that needed seeing to. "I'm fine," she announced to a worried Michael and Chrissie, wiping the blood from her chin. She felt around her face for the source of the blood and found a cut on her cheek and lip. Chrissie looked over at his hand to explain the cut to her cheek and said, "He's wearing a signet ring on the hand he hit you with."

Michael took Serena by the arm and guided her to their office to sort her face out. "Luc, Sacha," he called over to them. "One of you deal with that idiot, preferably before he punches another member of my staff!"

She sat down in her chair and waited for him to find all the necessary equipment. Just when she thought she was getting used to AAU, doing well, even, this happened. "I thought you said AAU isn't so bad," she grumbled.

"It isn't," he answered, opening an antiseptic wipe and bringing it to her cheek. She winced as her face stung. "Sorry," he said.

"I'm sure you are," she snapped, the wall around her rebuilding itself to keep him out. It was her natural reaction to being hurt or manhandled. The shutters went up to the world around her, and nothing would bring them down for a long time.

She'd been doing so well, too. This morning, for the first time, she had actually felt at home on AAU. She had helped a teenager forget about his pain, but when she went to help this man, he hit her across the face. She knew she was stuck here; Hanssen had gone AWOL and Imelda clearly had no intention of moving her. She almost wished Hanssen was still here. He perhaps would've reassigned when he worked out she wasn't made for this.

"I'm not cut out for this, Michael," she whispered as he brushed the antiseptic lightly over her face.

"What you talking about?" he demanded. "You've not been initiated into AAU until some drunken idiot or a psycho has tried to hit you," he grinned. She knew he was just trying to make her feel better, and she did appreciate the gesture, but it wasn't working very well. She wanted out of here, out of the chaos, but she knew that, unless she resigned from Holby, it wasn't going to happen. If only she hadn't crossed Imelda all those years ago. If only she hadn't unwittingly let on it was her fault.

He wiped her sliced lip gently, and said, "Don't you dare even think of leaving me with Levy and Hemingway on my own again." His attempt at humour was useless, but his point was obvious. He knew she was thinking of leaving.

"That only happened because he was drunk," she pointed out. "When I was on Keller, patients were usually sober and victims of illness, not acute idiocy."

"You're quick to judge, aren't you?" It wasn't even an accusation; his tone was one of curiosity, like a child asking why the moon followed them in the car at night.

"I don't like coming over as soft," she admitted. "I don't want anyone to think they can use me as a doormat."

He burst out laughing at that statement, and she glared at him for it. What was so funny? It was true that she didn't like the idea of people walking all over her. "I don't think anyone would dare try and use Serena Campbell as a doormat," he laughed heartily. He carefully placed steri-strips upon the cut to her cheek, but her lip would heal on it's own. "What you gonna tell your daughter?" he asked.

"The truth," she shrugged. "My patient was drunk and punched me in the face when I tried to touch him."

"You can't always be cold-hearted," he reminded her. "And Ric told me what happened with that alcoholic girl on Keller. You fought for her, even though she messed up. Something about a moment of weakness," he explained.

Oh, of course Ric told him about that. They probably sat laughing at her. It was probably what stopped them fighting - she had heard about when Michael punched Ric right across the face. But Michael was right; she had felt a certain sense of satisfaction when the young woman ran up and hugged her, all because she had stood up and fought for her, even though she had stumbled.

"You know, Michael, compassion suits you better than arrogance," she pointed out, trying to avoid the subject of her thawing heart.

"Right," he said, getting to his feet. "You'll be fine, but I wouldn't look in a mirror for a few days," he joked.

"That bad?" she groaned. "Give me your mirror."

"I'm a man," he told her. "Why would I even have a mirror?" It was a deliberate attempt to stop her seeing her reflection, and she wasn't going to stand for it.

"Because you're a_ vain_ man," she drawled. It was a perfectly valid point and the look on his face proved it. She had to stifle a snigger when he went into his desk and pulled out a pocket mirror, totally proving her point. She took it and cringed internally when she saw the damaged. There was minor swelling on the right side of her face, accompanied by a quickly forming bruise and a stitched cut that were sure to stand out against her relatively pale skin. Not to mention a swollen and sliced lip. "I've looked better," she allowed.

"Damn right you have," he grinned. "You gonna be OK to work?"

"I don't really have a choice, since we're short staffed. Just give me some painkillers and I'll be right as rain," she finished with a smile. She had only smiled to disguise just how much pain she was in; her face was throbbing, her head was aching and her lip was stinging.

"Are you going to report him?"

"What's the point? He won't even remember it tomorrow; let's just put it down to festive drunken lunacy and leave it at that, shall we?" she suggested, standing up and touching his shoulder as she left. She could see he was unnerved by her calm candidness, but it was the only thing stopping her from losing her temper with every moron she came across down here.

At least, for now, she had Michael on her side. She was quickly finding that, in the disorder of AAU, it was best to keep on decent terms with those she needed, for fear of being swallowed up in the chaos.

When she saw the drunk man, she noticed that Sacha, ever the diplomat, was negotiating with him calmly to try and examine him safely. Michael handed her some painkillers and a mug of coffee and told her quietly, "Don't let this knock you back. It was bound to happen."

"Never a dull day on AAU," she said dryly, letting him pat her shoulder gently as he walked away, returning the gesture she made as she left the office. Wasn't it strange how she had been so optimistic this morning, and now she was dreading getting back in the thick of it? She was used to a constant level of emotion, not the highs and the extreme low she experienced today.

Then she remembered this was an emergency ward, where patients are unprepared for their situations and could not see logic past their irrational fright. Surgical patients, especially electives, were usually prepared and ready for surgery in their own mind. These people were victims of accidents, malice or their own stupidity, and some dealt with it better than others.

Refusing to admit defeat, she picked up another patient file and went back where she was needed. She would get used to this sooner or later. She'd survived here this long, after all.

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**Hope this is alright!  
Please feel free to leave a review and tell me what you thought!  
Sarah x**


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